by Bethanye Satterwhite
What is this? he asked while holding my hand.
It is everything, my friend.
It is the road that finds that lost place
Where birds sing all through the year,
And the sun rises every seventh day.
Can I show you? I ask.
There is a question in his eyes
hold tight, my love
because falling is the most glorious thing of all.
I know this author personally, and I thought this poem needed to be commemorated. :)